


Impulse To Steal an Ashtray

by iriswallpaper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Buckingham Palace Ashtray as sex toy, Dirty Talk, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Established Relationship, Frottage, Giggling, I'm sorry Your Magesty, Immediately after the Buckingham Palace/cab ride home scene, Kissing, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock steals an ashtray for John, They can't keep their hands off each other, With apologies to ACD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6305308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswallpaper/pseuds/iriswallpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock steals an ashtray from Buckingham Palace for John - for a reason. Sherlock's ideas are always good ones, as John comes to agree. In other words, using the Queen's ashtray as a sex toy.</p>
<p>Set immediately after this scene in A Scandal in Belgravia:<br/><a href="http://33.media.tumblr.com/37ac4aa02257a391bcb59c32d63de975/tumblr_mzvedsx1Cp1tqsynao1_500.gif">An Impulse to Steal an Ashtray</a><br/>Thank you to janiespinkteapot.tumblr.com for the gif!</p>
<p>The amazing cover art was a wonderful gift by itsacon10.tumblr.com.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impulse To Steal an Ashtray

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed so please forgive my mistakes.

They tumbled laughing out of the cab and John crowded close behind Sherlock while he leaned over to flip a few notes to the cabbie. He wasn’t close enough to push his pulmping cock against Sherlock’s arse, but close enough that if anyone had been walking by, they definitely would have raised an eyebrow at two middle aged men pantomiming backdoor on the pavement outside of 221B Baker Street.

Giggling, John fumbled his key out of his pocket and nearly dropped it trying to fit it into the lock while Sherlock crowded him from behind. John could feel the lump of glass in the inside pocket of Sherlock's Belstaff, poking hard into his ribs. “Is that an ashtray in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” John growled over his shoulder as he finally pushed the door open.

“Both,” Sherlock growled into John’s ear while he spun him around and pushed him against the foyer wall, lips crushing John’s and forcing his mouth open. The ashtray poked John in his solar plexus, but it wasn’t the only thing taking his breath away. Sherlock’s lips moved to the corner of his mouth, then down his jaw, then to the hypersensitive spot just below the junction of jaw and neck. An involuntary moan escaped as John’s mouth fell open. “Shhhh,” Sherlock breathed against his skin, “Mrs. Hudson’s home. You know how she feels about these things.” His voice rose in pitch as he performed a remarkable impersonation of Mrs. Hudson, “Really, boys, at my time of life.”

John couldn’t contain his giggles as Sherlock hauled him toward the stairs. They both stumbled, drunk with laughter at the mad antics they’d just performed at Buckingham Palace. On the landing, Sherlock pulled John to him and rolled his hips so the ashtray poked into John’s lower ribs again. “I’ve heard of glass sex toys, John,” Sherlock breathed into this the back of John’s neck. “Glass dildos, glass plugs. But glass ashtrays? We’ll have to come up with our own use for that.”

John collapsed against Sherlock, laughing uncontrollably. Sherlock shushed him again - he didn’t want to wake up Mrs. Hudson before the good stuff started. It was hard enough to be quiet in the throes of passion - knowing that their dear landlady was awake would damp things down a bit. And neither of the mad flatmates were in the mood for damped down tonight. John finally got the door open and they stumbled through, pausing to remove and hang their coats. Sherlock stripped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes and then he was on John again, crowding him against the sofa, kissing open mouthed, wet and rough, pressing the ashtray into the small of John’s back. 

“God, you really are mad,” John groaned. “Stealing from the Queen, for me.” The last two words came out on a breathy moan as he gripped Sherlock’s hips and pulled, toppling them both onto the sofa and twisting as they fell so they landed side by side, with Sherlock against the sofa’s back. Their height difference was less awkward in this position, with John’s leg in between Sherlock’s, pressing up to his most sensitive spots. Sherlock arched his neck, pressing his head into the sofa back, a sound between a moan and a growl rumbling through his chest. “Look at you, my beautiful mad thief,” John crooned. “Mr. Lightfingers himself, and at Buckingham Palace, no less. I’m going to have to keep those fingers occupied to keep you from lifting my own things.” Sherlock groaned an affirmative as John lifted his hand to his lips, sucking Sherlock's index and middle fingers into his mouth. “You’re a bad, bad boy,” John mouthed around Sherlock’s fingers, licking between them and sucking while Sherlock squirmed against him, squeezing John’s thigh between his own. John reached around and took the ashtray from Sherlock’s hand. He placed it between them, low down, hollow side toward Sherlock’s crotch, bottom side toward his own, then rolled his hips with a groan. He could feel the cold glass through the fabric of his trousers and pants, hard and unyielding; it shouldn't turn him on like this, but the entire day had been mad and the night promised to be even madder. 

Sherlock squirmed again, trying to adjust the ashtray around the bulge in his trousers. Finally finding a comfortable position, he pressed his hips forward, driving the ashtray even harder into John’s erection as he captured John’s lips again, kissing around his own fingers still in John's mouth. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, which brought another bubble of giggles up from Sherlock’s throat. He laughed against John’s lips and John joined him, releasing Sherlock’s fingers from his mouth and trying to slot their lips together between bursts of quiet giggles. “You love it, John.” Sherlock’s voice was like silk against John’s lips. “You’ve found someone as mad as you are.”

John kissed down Sherlock’s neck, leaving a wet trail of giggles. He tried to work open the buttons of Sherlock’s black shirt but it was stretched so tight, the buttons wouldn’t yield. With a frustrated sound, John leaned back and used both hands to quickly work the buttons free. “Yes, I have, and so have you,” he agreed quietly as he pushed the fine black cotton from Sherlock’s shoulders. 

John reached between them and withdrew the ashtray. The glass had warmed from their rutting but still held residual coolness from the outside air. He rubbed it lightly against Sherlock’s trim torso from collarbones to the low-slung waistband of his fine wool trousers, then back up to tease Sherlock’s coral-tinted nipples with the edge. First one pale circle peaked, then the other, as John raked the cut glass across the sensitive nubs. 

John’s tongue snuck out to swipe his lips as he watched, fascinated, as Sherlock’s body responded to the cool glass. Suddenly John’s clothing seemed too restrictive - he couldn’t take having his skin confined from Sherlock’s for another minute. He tore at the top buttons of his shirt and impatiently pulled it over his head with only three buttons freed, pulling his vest of with the same motion. “Get those off,” John growled, dipping his head to indicate Sherlock’s trousers. “Now.”

They wiggled and squirmed, trying to remove trousers, socks and pants without losing contact, confined by the narrow space of the sofa. The ashtray ended up under Sherlock’s hip in the fray and when they were both finally able to press together skin-to-skin, he reached between them and pulled it out. “My turn,” Sherlock said with a sardonic grin. He rolled over, pulling John beneath him as he sat up. John smirked up at him as Sherlock caressed John’s face with the ashtray, running it lightly from his temple to his cheekbone to his jawline. “Looks lovely on you,” Sherlock purred, continuing the glass caress down John’s neck, across his clavicle, down his shoulder to elbow then back up, outlining John’s firm pectorals before setting it flat against one nipple. Sherlock bent down and breathed into the hollow of glass, his breath fogging the bottom of the cool ashtray. 

John groaned. He couldn’t feel Sherlock’s breath, but his lover looked so hot, bent over his chest, his perfect pink lips parted and breath gusting with a soft sound. It was mad, and hot, and the feel of Sherlock’s knees against his thighs added to his excitement. John shifted, trying to communicate to Sherlock that he wanted more, and of course the genius on top of him immediately deduced what he wanted. Sherlock rolled the ashtray, on edge, down the valley of his sternum, continuing down his abdomen and across his navel, until the cool glass met the tip of John’s hot prick. John sucked in a breath at the sensation and Sherlock grinned, obviously fascinated to find out how John’s penis would react to the forbidden item, stolen just for him. He swirled the edge around John’s glans, teasing John’s foreskin with slight nudges of the ashtray. A tiny bead of moisture appeared at the slit and Sherlock lightly raked the edge of the ashtray across it, slicking and warming the glass. John moaned and shifted, but Sherlock’s knees and weight kept him held firmly in place. Sherlock’s eyes flicked to John’s face to find his skin flushed, eyes heavy lidded and pupils nearly obliterating the lapis irises. He grinned and John grinned back, the mood still light but the time for giggles past.

Continuing to roll the ashtray on its edge, Sherlock worked it down John’s hard shaft. He rolled it gently across John’s bollocks but couldn’t go further without shifting their positions. He nudged the edge under John’s scrotum and cupped his bollocks in the bowl of glass. ‘Look at you,” Sherlock murmured, “Served up like a treat. All for me.” He scooted backward toward John’s knees so he could lean forward and place feather light kisses on John’s bollocks as John moaned and squirmed. “All mine.” Sherlock whispered. Their adjusted position freed John’s hips and he pressed them upward but Sherlock pulled back to keep his lips barely in contact with John’s hot flesh. 

“Oh, god, Sherlock,” John ground out through clenched teeth. “Just suck me.” 

Sherlock laughed softly against John’s still-cupped bollocks. “Patience, John.” He sat up and slid the ashtray out from from under John’s scrotum then scooted forward so his own erection alighted with John’s. “Wouldn’t it be hot, John,” Sherlock’s voice caressed John’s ears. “To come together, into the Queen’s ashtray? To fill it up? I’d put it in the refrigerator to study later, see how our semen interacts together.” He waved he ashtray over John’s body as he spoke.

John groaned and lifted his hips, trying to press his erection up into Sherlock’s but Sherlock sat back. “I thought you wanted me to suck you?” Sherlock teased.

“Touch me,” John moaned. “Just touch me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock squeezed his knees together. “I am touching you, John,” he teased. 

John groaned louder. “You know what I mean, you tease.”

Sherlock slid the ashtray up John’s length slowly, then wrapped his fist around lightly, holding them both together. He pulled up slightly, just enough to slide the ashtray under the tip of John’s cock. “There, that’s nice,” Sherlock teased. “Just look at the Queen’s nice cut glass ashtray, ready for our come. Wouldn’t Her Majesty be pleased to know it?”

A breathy laugh met Sherlock’s words but John quickly quieted as Sherlock slowly ran his fist up to press their heat together. John dug his hand into the crack of the sofa, fishing around for lube that he could have sworn they’d left there just a few days ago. Sherlock continued his gentle glide, fingers loose around them, holding John’s hips still with his other hand. At last John’s fingers met the cold plastic of the lube bottle. Sherlock’s eyes brightened when John pulled it out and he released his hold on their erections to hold his hand out, palm upward. John flipped the cap and squeezed out a generous amount. The scent of strawberry mixed with the musk of sex in the air around them and John remembered they’d experimented with flavored lube the last time they’d got it on on the sofa. 

The slide of Sherlock’s slick fingers took John’s mind off thoughts of flavored lube. Sherlock teased with light strokes, brushing John’s cock on the ashtray with each stroke. John gripped Sherlock’s hip with one hand and the edge of the sofa cushion with the other. He struggled to keep his eyes open against the sensual pleasure of Sherlock’s hand and Sherlock’s cock sliding on the underside of his own - he didn’t want to miss a minute of this. His eyes flicked to Sherlock’s face. Sherlock was watching the slide of their pricks intently, mouth open to his panting, brow knit in concentration. The tip of Sherlock’s tongue flicked out over his lower lip as John watched, which tore a moan from John’s throat.

“Sherlock, god, have mercy.” John pushed his hips upward and Sherlock finally relented, pressing his own hips downward to meet John’s. Sherlock moved his hand up beside John’s head and propped himself stiff-armed, shifting his other hand so that his hips could take over. He gripped tighter and snapped his hips again and again, eyes glued to the sight of their cocks framed by the glittering cut glass. 

John’s hips surged upward to meet each of Sherlock’s thrusts. His neck quivered under the strain of holding his head up so he could watch. He moved his other hand from the sofa cushion to Sherlock’s bicep and gripped tightly. 

Sherlock lost the rhythm before John was close. John took over, flexing his abs and pushing up with his heels, sliding into Sherlock’s fist as he held still above him. John glanced up as Sherlock gasped, then back down between them to watch the pulses of Sherlock’s orgasm spill over his fist and into the ashtray. Sherlock breathed out a soft “ah” with each pulse and the sound went straight from John’s ears to his cock, which swelled against Sherlock’s before he gave in to the impulse to close his eyes and give himself up to the orgasm that was bearing down just behind his bollocks. Sherlock’s arm shivered under John’s hand, straining to keep hold long enough for John to come. That shiver traveled up John’s arm and down his spine to join the sounds Sherlock was making, pushing him over the edge into white-hot oblivion. Head dropping back, John groaned as he gave himself over to the sensation of pulsing in Sherlock’s hand, spilling into the ashtray pressing against his belly.

Sherlock lowered himself slowly, wedging into the space between John and the back of the sofa. He kept a grip on the ashtray, still on John’s belly, while John recovered his breath. Sherlock bent a knee over John’s legs and fitted his head into the space between John’s neck and shoulder. He placed a soft kiss on John’s neck then relaxed into the afterglow.

They lay quiet for a time then John turned his head and kissed the tip of Sherlock’s nose. “You’re not really going to keep that, are you?” 

“Of course I am.”

“Seriously, Sherlock.” John shifted his hips but Sherlock pressed the ashtray into his belly to keep John in place. “That’s beyond disgusting.”

Sherlock grinned. “Oh, you mean, am I going to keep _that_.” He lifted the ashtray and examined its contents. “Don’t be ridiculous, John. That’s disgusting. We’re keeping the ashtray. But you can wash it out right away.”


End file.
